


Monkeys, Funnel Cake, and a Ferris Wheel

by Quilly



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Gen, bromance. bromance everywhere, clint came for the funnel cake, heaven help that carnival if all the avengers come later, if she does not get some peace and quiet pepper will start stabbing, it will not be pretty, male bonding time, not his fault when this stupid ferris wheel is older than steve, tony is afraid of heights and possibly claustrophobic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-01
Updated: 2013-03-01
Packaged: 2017-12-03 23:25:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/703851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quilly/pseuds/Quilly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony doesn't want to be here, because carnivals are stupid.</p><p>(Day 13 of Quilly's February OTP Extravaganza. For cheesyontheoutside)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Monkeys, Funnel Cake, and a Ferris Wheel

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! I'm not usually a fanfic writer for Avengers, so if this sucks I will never try again, no harm, no foul! This is for cheesyontheoutside, who requested Tony/anyone bromance, and this is what she gets. Enjoy!

It’s with a heart full of terror and a conscience full of guilt that Steve agrees to take Tony out for an afternoon.

 

“If someone doesn’t get him out of this tower now,” Pepper had said, stabbing the cucumber she was trying to cut up, “I am going to throw him bodily from the roof.”

 

Well, that would be unfortunate. So Steve volunteered. Unfortunately, Steve’s idea of a good time is limited and at least sixty years out of date. Bruce’s is in the lab, which is exactly where Pepper doesn’t want Tony for a while. Natasha’s is…questionable. Thor’s isn’t even planet-side.

 

That leaves Clint, who has a gleam in his eye Steve doesn’t trust and a pocket full of ones.

 

“It’ll be fine, Cap, just let me do the steering,” Clint says, slapping his shoulder. Tony is lounging on a workbench, shades on and speakers crackling with the sounds of classic rock. Because Clint is who he is and Steve is who he is, Tony doesn’t notice them until it’s too late.

 

Steve lets Clint drive. To his surprise, when he looks out the window after several hours and a _very_ long argument about radio privileges, a quaint little carnival is coming into view.

 

“Fun for the whole family,” Clint intones at Steve’s pointing and Tony’s shocked and simmering silence.

 

“I’m not going there,” Tony says through gritted teeth. “Barton, turn around. We are _not going_.”

 

“It’ll be good for you, Stark,” Steve says, feeling much cheerier.

 

“ _Clint_ ,” Tony begs. “Gross food and people touching me and _rides with all the engineering finesse of a twelve-year-old’s science fair project!_ ”

 

“It was either this, or the arcade,” Clint shrugs, pulling into the field where cars are parked. Tony crosses his arms, planting himself in the back seat.

 

“I’m not getting out, and you can’t make me,” he says threateningly. Clint looks at Steve. Steve looks at Clint. They both look at Tony. Tony pales.

 

Somehow Tony finds himself blinking under the entirely-too-bright sunlight with a corn dog in one hand and a Slurpee in the other, sitting on a bale of hay while unsupervised children run around and occasionally kick up a bit of dust in his direction. He glares at Steve and Clint, who are trying their luck at a ring toss. Trying their luck, _as if_ —they both have excellent aim and so help him God if Steve picks out that hideous goggle-eyed monkey—

 

Said hideous goggle-eyed monkey is soon keeping Tony company on his hay bale as he vindictively sips his Slurpee and maintains, silently, using all the body language in his arsenal, that he is _staying put_.

 

“Come on, Tony, lighten up,” Clint says, kicking at Tony’s foot and wiping powdered sugar from his funnel cake away with the back of his hand.

 

“You haven’t tried a single ride or booth,” Steve wheedles. “Come on, _something_ ’s gotta look fun to you!”

 

Tony sighs, rolls his eyes, and looks around. “I guess that thing’s not too offensive,” he says, offhandedly pointing in a direction and hoping it’s not actually something terrible.

 

“The Ferris wheel?” Steve asks, and something clenches in Tony’s gut. “Great idea!”

 

“I’m in,” Clint says, tossing his empty funnel cake wrapper, and they set off for the Ferris wheel. Tony contemplates running, but swallows, grabs the stupid monkey, and follows.

 

The whole thing is rickety and rusty and the man in charge of its operation is at least three hundred years old and toothless. Tony can’t understand a word he says, but gets in because Steve is behind him and is pushing him towards the creaky carriage of death.

 

Because this is Tony’s life and Tony’s life hates him, the Ferris wheel gives a huge grinding jerk and stops, right as their carriage reaches the top. Steve and Clint laugh and high-five each other. Tony clutches the walls and the bench of the carriage and tries not to look down.

 

“What’s wrong, Stark? You’ve been up higher than this in the suit,” Steve asks.

 

“I’m usually in control of the suit,” Tony spits. “If I make it out of this alive, I am suing both of you into the ground.”

 

“Don’t be such a baby,” Clint grins. “Enjoy the view.”

 

Tony glances out of the windows once or twice, but for the most part keeps his eyes absolutely fixed on the bolts holding the carriage together. Eventually Steve and Clint’s idiotic jibber-jabber (oh crap, Cap’s rubbing off on him) peters out and they look at him.

 

“How is it that a guy who builds skyscrapers and throws himself off buildings is scared of heights?” Clint asks.

 

“Tony, are you going to be alright?” Steve asks, and he has his Captain America Saves The Children voice on. Tony hates that voice, hates even more that it’s being used on him, and _really_ hates that it’s calming the knot in his stomach somewhat.

 

“I’ll be f-fine,” he says through a clenched jaw. “As soon as this stupid bucket of bolts gets moving and I get my feet on stable, dry, beautiful ground again.”

 

The carriage sways as Steve stands, and Tony is pretty sure he’s going to hurl, but Steve just sits down next to him and starts humming some tune Tony doesn’t know. Clint looks out the window, face impassive.

 

It’s another ten minutes before whatever error with the Ferris wheel is fixed, and an extra five before the carriage touches down, and Tony stands so fast he gets vertigo and sits down again.

 

“Easy, Tony,” Steve says, a hint of a laugh in his voice, “take it slow.”

 

“I’m gonna go around again,” Clint says, passing a buck to the operator, and Steve helps Tony back to the hay bale and offers to buy him another Slurpee.

 

“The only thing I want right now is a beer, Cap,” Tony hisses, “fresh from my state-of-the-art refrigerator that keeps everything at the exact temperature to increase taste and drunkenness.” There’s a real edge to his voice, a venom that makes Steve feel even more guilty than when confronted with Pepper earlier, and his shoulders slump a little as he watches Clint pay to go around a third time.

 

As soon as Clint has his fill of the Ferris wheel Steve jerks his head, and Clint shrugs, and after a brief stop-off at the funnel cake booth they head for the car. As per Tony’s acidic request Clint finishes the funnel cake and brushes himself off before getting in the driver’s seat, and in stoic silence all three of them set off for the tower.

 

Steve is drifting off, so he can’t be sure, but he thinks that Tony might’ve whispered “thanks” as the lights of New York City come back into view.


End file.
